


One Dark Game

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-07-31
Updated: 1998-07-31
Packaged: 2018-11-21 00:46:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11346522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: The workings of a game between Mulder and Skinner. Warning: consensual B&D between two men.





	One Dark Game

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

One Dark Game by DB Kate

8 Mar 1998  
Category: Slash, Mulder/Skinner/NC-17  
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. CC does.  
Spoilers: None  
Summary: The workings of a game between Mulder & Skinner.  
Warning: This piece contains scenes of consensual B&D between two men. If this is not your cup of tea, please move along.

* * *

One Dark Game  
by DB Kate  


X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

I've never denied the darkness of this game.

With its shades of grey, and unmarked boundaries of desire, anger and fear, I can't argue that half of the intrigue behind it isn't just an extension of my own needs and an endless range of shared terrors. 

But, now, when Mulder's like this, bound and helpless beneath me, his eyes huge and lips trembling, it's easy to forget such things.

We started this game some time ago, in a casual way, with a pair of handcuffs and a few jokes about lost keys and Stephen King novels. It wasn't serious then and was never meant to become so, until we continued it, compulsively, sometimes late into the night, or straight through endless weekends, lost in a haze of struggling and roles and that one, single dark game.

It's addictive, this behavior, and I, a man who never thought he'd fall prey to any type of impulsiveness, find myself wondering each day if Mulder would come, and if he did, would he, for whatever reason, be willing to play this game, our game, just one more time.

And yes, he always comes back. To play our game. 

Just one more time.

In the past few weeks we've abandoned the handcuffs and use duct tape instead. I prefer it; it's soft, yet utterly unyielding and so much tighter than any rope or chain could ever be. There's comfort in its prison, its cocoon-like wrapping, with no rough knots or cold metal that could harshly bite or scratch sensitive skin. It's uniquely painless and serves its purpose exactly.

Which is to bind, to claim and to offer...completely. 

So, this evening, after our supper, I wrapped it around his wrists with care; slow bands around thin, crossed bones, while his hands clenched and unclenched beneath the wide loops. When I was done, his body automatically struggled, and his arms tugged instinctively at the bonds, while his breaths became labored against the sheets.

And I could almost hear his thoughts.

Thoughts of how impossible all this was, how he couldn't go through with it, how frightened he felt, with my weight heavy upon his back and grinding him into the bed. When I flipped him over, I could see that his bound hands were digging into his spine and could almost feel the ache in his arms.

"I'm afraid," he whispered and I nodded at him.

"That's good. Because you should be," I replied and kissed him very softly on the lips.

Such lips. Occasionally, I imagine the tape sealed over them, a merciless silver square with the faintest outline of his mouth visible underneath. I imagine running my tongue over the gag, feeling the covered warmth of his lips and the small vibrations of his moans. 

But that will never be part of our game.

For we've agreed on a word, a safe word, the only one he can use to guarantee his release. This word is our shield against the darkness of the game, and the repercussions that could follow if there's ever a mistake or an unknown misunderstanding. Mulder's never used this word, even during the times when I myself had become fearful of our excesses and wished that we could stop.

But there is no safe word for me, so I must continue.

And afterwards, spend the night wondering at what I've done, how he must have felt, and if he understood the depth of my love for him. Forced to spend the next day, and the one after that, feeling insecure, unknowing, unsure...until the game began again.

As it has tonight.

And now, at this moment, Mulder is simply staring at me, his eyes proud and slightly resentful. I meet his gaze, and our eyes lock, as I part his lips with my thumb, and slide my fingers into his mouth, one at a time, each one slowly advancing and retreating, the air cool against their wetness.

He gives me no encouragement as I do this, but offers no resistance either, and when I straddle his chest to repeat the motion with my cock, I find the same passive warmth, but with a sensation a thousand times more intense, and a pair of huge, hazel eyes staring up at me, their expression unreadable.

Soon, as I watch myself slide in and out, between soft and perfect lips, with those wonderful eyes watching me so carefully, I find that I'm forced to pull out, for I am close, so close, and I don't want the game to end.

Because he's not through with me yet.

"Have you had enough?" Mulder asks hoarsely, angrily, after I pull out. "Are you done now?"

I shake my head casually. "No. I don't think so."

The voice turns breathless, almost beseeching. "I'm asking you to let me go. Are you going to let me go?"

"Absolutely not," I say and watch as he gasps and twists under my hand, which is now manipulating his cock through the black cotton of his sweatpants, his eyes shut tightly and his hips pumping underneath me. His head is thrown back against the headboard and it's a beautiful sight, with the sounds and words of the game surrounding us.

"Please...don't," he gasps underneath me. "Let me go, Walter. Please, don't. Let me go."

It sounds pitiful, but I know what he's really saying.

//Please. Don't let me go.//

And I won't. Ever.

Because this is exactly what he wants, what he needs. The loss of his control is the loss of his guilt and with his body and soul placed into safe hands, he has no need to fear anything or anyone, even his worst enemy....

Himself.

But as for me, who can I trust? I want him beneath me, for I love this man more than words can say, but sometimes my thoughts turn to my own desires, and I can easily see myself treating him roughly, losing myself in the game utterly... completely. For what could be simpler then turning him over and entering him without permission or thought, when his hands are hopelessly bound behind him and how easy would it be to ignore his cries, even our safe word...our shield.

But as he trusts in me, I must trust in myself. I have to believe that I'll never do this and he will always be safe. Safe to cry and to struggle and to beg as I pull off the warm cotton that still covers him and dip down to run my mouth over his stomach and thighs, and let myself feel the warmth of his legs, while breathing lightly over his balls and ignoring his cock completely.

Easily, I lift him, his knees over my shoulders, and I rest my cock against his buttocks, just letting him feel the pressure of its presence there, making no move to enter him. I stay that way for a long time, watching him squirm, unable to move away. When I finally part him, I still wait before entering, as I listen to his quiet tears turn into furious, wailing rants. I am a bastard, an animal...a rapist, he's crying out now, with miserable, gulping sobs and violent twists of his body. 

Yes, I tell him, I am all of those things, and isn't it too bad for him that he's underneath me like this, and there is nothing, absolutely nothing, he can do about it. For I'm going to have him, take him, rape him and I'm going to make him enjoy it too, and what could possibly be worse than that?

At that moment, I enter him smoothly and he screams when I do. 

And there, at once, the world disappears from view. For suddenly, I am as lost as he ever was and my body is no longer my own. It's slamming into him, with my hand clapped roughly over his mouth and I can feel him biting, crying out into my palm, as we move together over the edge.

Then, it is done, over much too soon. Both of our hearts are pounding as one against each other's chests; our breathing is harsh, a short respite; the calm after the storm. I could stay this way forever, but I force myself to rise, to get the scissors, to release him immediately, for when the game is done, it's best to remove all of its trappings quickly. 

I cut the tape in one smooth motion and when he turns over to face me, I kiss his wrists, as is proper, perhaps even more than appropriate. And Mulder's look is grateful...and satisfied. He's satisfied with my performance.

For he knows as well as I do who is the servant in this game. 

And who is the master.

X X X X X X X X X X X X 

Fini.  
All comments welcome.  



End file.
